novel writing – Page 12 – Michael Seidel, writer

The cool night air feels like autumn. But a summer sun gets up and flexes. Blue skies clear of cloud debris help. It’s about 60 F now but we’ll cruise into the low to mid 80s F today.

It’s not just the temperature that informs on the warring seasons. Trees are shifting their leaves. The sun’s approach comes through the southeastern windows in the dining room, then leans back toward the east as the sun clears mountains and trees. Yes, it’s Wenzda, September 17, 2025, and autumn is coming.

I spoke with Dad yesterday. He sounded much better. As he probably wouldn’t survive surgery, he’ll need to recover from his fall injuries through rest and time. He told me that they project that will take six to eight months. In the meantime, he can’t put any weight on his left foot due to the pain it causes.

Today’s music comes from pulling threads. First, I was pulling threads on a dream, asking what a cheetah in a dream means. Then I pulled threads on the plot and characters in a novel in progress. Out of all that came No Doubt’s 1995 song, “Just A Girl”. I see exactly why The Neurons pulled the song into the morning mental music stream after entangling with the Writer and Dream Neurons.

In political news, Trump is in Europe. Well, UK. Polls show he’s growing tres unpopular. That, along with his increasing instability, which we’ve repeatedly witness, will cause him to lash out more and pretend more, like he did when releasing another image of himself as a superhero, which is 180 degrees from who he is. TACO will abuse his office of power more, threaten his enemies and allies more, and tell us all how great and wonderful he is, that he’s our favorite president. Deep down, he knows he’s a piece of garbage but doesn’t care because, thanks to being POTUS, he’s growing richer and more powerful. Some think he worries excessively about the Epstein files being released. I speculate that he knows all the soft and hard data on the economy is pointing to an ugly truth, that he was wrong, and he’s going to be proven wrong, and as that happens, even his most staunch supporters will quietly abandon him.

Coffee is dashing through my bod, delivering its caffeine goodness. Hope you make acquiantance with peace and grace today and it turns into a long relationship. Here we go, into the great wide open. Cheers

I’ve been pursuing another novel’s completion. Been writing that puppy as I can while navigating the usual life interruptions. They don’t need counted down on two hands for you to understand all the life junk happening, right? Employ memory and imagination, and you’ll probably get it.

I’ve been sort of stymied. I’m not a plotter. I don’t outline a jot. I’m a solid pantser, leaping from slippery point to slippery point, following whims and impulses like they’re magic winds carrying me toward my destination. Except, suddenly the winds dropped me into a place I didn’t recognize. Not sure where to go, I did some editing, revising, and rewriting while muttering darkly to myself about being misled by mean muses and wondering what the hell had happened to the Writing Neurons. Besides those activities, I made some assumptions and conclusions about what I thought was wrong, how some things lacked enough substance and understanding to build upon, and conducted some writing exercises to stimulate me, myself, and I. I refer to these exercises as snapshots. They’re all just focus exercises to help me have greater understanding of whatever needs more understanding: setting, history, concept, characters, motivations, relationships, whatever you might find in a novel.

After four days of that, grappling with where I was, unsure where I was to go, I said to myself, “Come on, man. Pitter patter. Get ‘er at ‘er.” And miraculously, the muses and the Writing Neurons emerged today and ordered, “Start typing.” And then they guided me through story twists which I never saw. Well, I partly saw some of ’em. But some of the twists involved twists I’d come up with but didn’t know how to put into the story. Suddenly, click, yea! All came together.

Most satisfying writing day, it was. Sometimes it does pay just to sit down and write like crazy. Who do I need to bribe to get more of these?